


Lightning Strikes Beneath My Skin

by kereia



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Chair Sex, Double Agent Brock Rumlow, Drinking & Talking, F/M, Light Bondage, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-08-21 11:00:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16575170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kereia/pseuds/kereia
Summary: When his cover as a double agent blows up in his face, Brock Rumlow is left with no choice but to ask Fury for an  extraction. He expected a fully armed SHIELD team to rescue him, not the cute waitress who took some encrypted files off him weeks ago.





	Lightning Strikes Beneath My Skin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Meilan_Firaga](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meilan_Firaga/gifts).



Brock Rumlow took a furtive look around as he sat down in the corner booth of a small bistro in Arlington. He'd chosen his table carefully (close to the back exit, good sight lines to the counter and out the front windows). It was supposed to be an easy drop, just like dozens of others Fury had asked him to do before.

Get in, make contact, and get out.

Easy.

Except that he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched.

The day had started with a surprise when Pierce intercepted him the minute he'd arrived at the Triskelion, and he, Jack Rollins and the rest of the STRIKE team he commanded were told that they'd be interviewed separately again about that botched HYDRA mission in London.

He'd suffered through the questions with his usual mask of stoicism. (The reason that said mission had failed was because he'd tipped Fury off about it, but that wasn't exactly something he could divulge.)

Regardless, Pierce had obviously become suspicious. Officially, it may have been called a debriefing, but Rumlow knew a fishing expedition when he saw one.

Brock was a simple man. He didn't like surprises. It was the main reason he hated being Fury's double agent within HYDRA. It wasn't that he had a problem lying to everyone. He didn't even mind the danger. (Turth be told, after almost six years of rising through the ranks and collecting information on HYDRA, the danger of his job had almost become a bit of an addiction – an adrenalin high he wasn't proud of chasing, but ultimately couldn't escape. So what was the point of fighting it?)

Besides, quitting wasn't an option. Especially not now, when he was getting close to obtaining the NOC list that he and Fury had been after for half a decade. The identity of every HYDRA agent hiding not just within SHIELD, but in every government agency and cooperation around the world was too valuable a prize to turn his back on.

He knew that he couldn't save _everyone_ HYDRA went after. Sacrifices had to be made, and he told himself that exposing the rot that festered beneath SHIELD justified the bodies he left behind.

Most of the time, he even believed it long enough to get at least a few hours of sleep at night.

What he needed was just a little more time.

What he needed even more was to stop HYDRA from assassinating Tony Stark.

Hence, today's meeting.

He surveyed the restaurant, taking note of the people around him, assessing their clothes and postures, while listening in on their conversations. No one appeared out of place. The young Caucasian couple on the table next to him was arguing about some K-Pop concert they'd recently been to and hadn't even looked up when he'd sat down next to them. The tall, black woman two tables down tapped on her phone while the coffee in front of her turned cold. She was wearing high heels and a pencil skirt – _business woman, lunch break_ , he thought – too restrictive during a fight, probably not a threat.

The tall, black man in his thirties on the bar was clearly ex-military and recently at that, still sporting the short, cropped air cut and hyper-vigilance of someone accustomed to combat situations. (Steel-tipped boots and lean frame, muscles build for strength _and_ speed. Probably had about three inches and thirty pounds on him, difficult to take down in a fight). They'd clocked each other the minute Rumlow had entered the establishment, but if he was one of Pierce's men, he was doing a poor job of being inconspicuous.

Both waitresses were having an animated conversation with the cashier behind the counter. (One, Caucasian, brunette and curvy, wire-rimmed glasses, jeans and short heeled boots (good choice for running) beneath the bistro's apron, the other, taller, but young enough to still attend high school, lean muscles, short black hair, sundress and sandals.) Their smiles where easy and open as they argued with the young guy refilling the sugar packs – or were they flirting?

It had been so damn long since he'd even tried to hook up with anyone, that he couldn't be sure. His life didn't really lend itself to dating. Not even the casual kind.

The brunette finally figured out that there was a new customer who needed her attention and made her way over to him.

A row of tables had been sat up outside the bistro for guests who wanted to enjoy the last warm October days. A group of women of varying ages had pushed three tables together. They were gesticulating and laughing, completely oblivious to his perusal. On the far end, next to the dwarf conifer, a man had just sat down, wearing black denims and a track jacket, chatting on his phone.

Brock let his gaze wander back to the group of women, while he studied him out of the corner of his eyes. Something about the way he moved...

"Hello, handsome. Made up your mind, yet? Or do you want more time to enjoy your last chance at sunshine before the snow will bury us alive?"

His head snapped around when the waitress said the code phrase Fury had given him. Except it wasn't the right wording.

He frowned. "Excuse me?"

The waitress – Darcy, as per her name tag – rolled her eyes. "I said, are you enjoying your last chance at sunshine before that cold front is scheduled to roll in?"

"That's not actually what you said."

"Pretty sure I did."

"Pretty sure you didn't," he shot back while he tried to figure out if he was talking to an inexperienced agent who'd made a mistake, or if he'd walked straight into a trap, his cover was blown, and he needed to shoot his way out of here.

Darcy gave him a bashfully smile and tugged her hair behind her ear.

He was taken aback, because nothing about their exchange had been flirtatious, but then her gaze darted to the guy sitting outside the window, and he understood. She may have bungled the code phrase, but she was apparently astute enough to pick up on the same sense of wrongness that had caught Brock's attention.

She was putting on an act.

And he better help her sell it... at least until he figured out what was going on.

Assuming an air of interested affability – something that did not come easy to him – he forced a smile onto his face and leaned across the table, turning his head further towards her. If the man outside really was a HYDRA agent sent to keep taps on him, he would at least not be able to read his lips.

"So, do you want to do this or not?" Darcy asked. Her smile was warm and inviting, and not even a little bit professional, and Rumlow felt himself respond to it in spite of the knowledge that it was completely fake.

"Why did you change the wording?" he asked.

"I thought a more dramatic version would better fit the occasion."

He blinked. "You do realize that's really not the point, right? This isn't a game."

She regarded him for a moment, and he couldn't for the life of him say if the blush stealing across her cheeks was real, or just something else she did for the benefit of appearing like a young waitress who was being hit on by a customer who was far too old for her.

 _Too old and too jaded, and in far too much everyday danger to spent even half a second thinking about how damn pretty her smile_ _is_ , he chastised himself. Contrary to his thoughts, he couldn't stop his eyes from roaming across her face, drinking in the soft curve of her lips and the spark in her baby blue eyes. She really was a picture.

"I usually don't do this," she said with a sudden laugh. "I'm pretty sure my dad would be _furious_ if he heard me talk like this, but I'm more of a free spirit, really. This whole nine-to-five business has never been my thing."

There were few things more effective than the idea of Fury as a father figure to reign in his wayward thoughts (and apparently his long dormant, but suddenly stirring libido if the sharp tug in his abdomen was anything to go by).

So she wasn't really an agent, and apparently didn't even have an interest in working for SHIELD. What the hell was Fury thinking? Something big must have happened for him to resort to using someone outside the agency.

"Want to tell me how you ended up serving tables, then?" he asked.

Darcy shook her head. "It might have escaped your notice, but I'm kind of on the clock at the moment," she said with a gesture towards the cashier who was starting to cast suspicious glances their way.

Whether that meant that he was her back up, in case something went wrong, or just a coworker concerned that someone was flirting with her, he couldn't tell for sure, but he got the message.

"Large Americano to go, then."

Darcy pursed her lips, mischievously. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

It took him two whole seconds before he realized what she was talking about, and then he ducked his head and rubbed the back of his neck, hoping that the move obscured the sheepish expression on his face.

Damn it. Calling her out on her lack of professionalism one minute, and then he blundered just as much as she had.

"Yeah, I am." he said, completing the call and response that Fury had set up. "The summer was short enough as it is."

Darcy let her eyes linger on his face for a second and sank her teeth into her bottom lip. There was more than warmth in her gaze, he thought.

"Autumn might surprise you yet,” she said with a wink before she turned away.

Rumlow watched her leave, his eyes dipping along the curve of her body to her shapely ass. Was that sway in her hips for him, or was it part of the act? Or was it just the way she walked? (How was it that he could pick out an agent in a crowd of people, but couldn't say for sure if a woman was flirting with him? God, he was pathetic.)

She returned moments later with a styrofoam cup, and he handed her a generous tip and a thumb drive full of encrypted messages surreptitiously wrapped up in the bills.

"See you around," she said brightly as he walked past her.

He saluted her with his cup.

Outside, he told himself to keep walking and not turn around. He sipped his Americano as he walked past the young man in his track jacket, who was still talking on the phone, while simultaneously ordering a coffee from the second waitress standing next to him. Taking in the subtle tension in the man's shoulder, Rumlow risked a glance down the line of his back and clenched his teeth.

The jacket was thick enough to hide the straps of the shoulder holster to the casual observer, but Rumlow was anything but casual.

Fuck.

He kept walking, crossed the street, and pretended to study the bus schedule on the stop directly opposite the bistro. The agent tried to be unobtrusive as he watched Darcy from his place outside the window, but now that Rumlow had left, he was not as cautious as he had been before.

For her part, Darcy was back at the counter talking to the cashier and laughing while she leaned across the counter. When the second waitress joined them, she all but bounced on the balls of her feet, grinned and threw her arms around the girl. Rumlow was too far away to read her lips, but for all appearances, Darcy looked like a young woman who'd just enjoyed a bit of a flirt, and had maybe even made plans for a date with the ruggedly handsome (oh, for god's sake, shut up, old man) stranger she'd just met.

She definitely did not look like an agent. Which was probably precisely the reason Fury had chosen her.

Apparently the HYDRA goon watching her came to the same conclusion, because he seemed to lose interest in Darcy fast.

Mindful of the fact that there was most likely another agent watching him, Rumlow strode down the street, back to the Triskelion.

He told himself firmly that he didn't feel disappointed that he would probably never see Darcy again.

 

* * *

 

Rumlow had three simple rules when it came to survival.

Never let them catch you unprepared.

Never allow yourself to be outnumbered.

And if you break rules number one and two, never get into any situation in which you're outgunned.

When Pierce's fishing expedition finally reeled in enough information to blow his cover and reveal him as a double agent, he broke all of them.

Ruler number one got broken, because he'd spent weeks setting up Jack Rollins as the fall guy, and he'd convinced himself that he's done an ironclad job.

Except that, breaking rule number two, four members of his own team – including Rollins – had jumped him during what was supposed to have been a routine protective escort of one of HYDRA's business associates from the airport to the Triskelion. The fact that the protection was supposed to be covert, meant civilian clothing. It meant a fucking suit and a tie and a shoulder holster underneath his jacket and a back-up gun strapped to his ankle, and that was how rule number three crumbled into dust.

He was wearing a tactical vest, sure, but his sidearm was no match for the automatic weapons Rollins and Coulter pulled out of their SUV once he'd disabled the two members of his _own damn_ _team_ who'd been stupid enough to jump him first.

With running the only option left to him, he careened around a corner of the parking garage in which they'd met up and tried to put as much distance between him and his pursuers as possible.

Tires squealed on the concrete, the sound momentarily drowning out the footsteps behind him. He ducked between two cars and jumped to the lower level when he reached the end of the lot. The squealing of the tires also masked the impact of his soles on the ground. Panting, he rolled underneath the car next to him and pulled his cell phone out his jacket. His fingers flew across the screen as he typed out a message, asking for immediate extraction.

Fifteen minutes and two dead bodies later, he was standing at the bank of the Potomac, ineffectually wiping blood off his hands, when Darcy pulled up next to him in a beat up station wagon, wielding a taser, and the keys to a safe house.

She was the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen.

" _Who_ are you?" he asked as he threw himself into the passenger seat.

"I'm a university student who needed a couple of physics credits and ended up tasing a god. Now hold on," she quipped and slammed her foot onto the gas pedal.

 

* * *

 

He found the bottle of Scotch less than two minutes after he came out of the bathroom.

"What the fuck happened?" he asked as he sat down heavily in one of the rickety chairs that were scattered around the upper floor of the building to which Dary had taken him.

"You'll have to ask Fury. He's kind of tied up right now, but he said he'll drop by tomorrow."

They were in a loft above an empty warehouse on the outskirts of town. The factory style windows were grimy, and the floor was dusty. The table in front of him was far too low to comfortably keep the bottle within reach, so he wrapped his hand around the neck and propped it against his thigh. A lone light bulb illuminated the scarcely furnished space, and on the other side of the table, Darcy sank into the lumpy cushions of a mustard-colored sofa that had seen better days.

Her hair spread out against the fabric behind her as she turned her head, and all he could think about was how full and soft it looked, which was pretty fucked up, considering that he was still trying to come off an adrenalin high, and had only just managed to wash off the blood of his team mate. (His name had been Matthew. Bit of a bastard, but good for a beer after work, invited him home to his parent's farm in Idaho for Forth of July celebrations three years running, eternal man-child, but good to have in your corner during a dogfight.)

He took a long pull from the bottle.

"So, he just told you to pick me up?" he asked in disbelief. "An untrained agent?"

Darcy looked at him with one delicate eyebrow arched. "Have you seen the news?"

That stopped him cold. "Not since this morning, no."

With a very unladylike grunt, which he nevertheless thought was cute (alcohol and adrenalin, never a good combination, it always went to his head too fast) and pulled out her cell phone. She swiped across the screen and tossed it to him.

"Have a look then."

He watched the news report for less than twenty seconds before he let his hand fall down to his side. "Can't Stark stay out of trouble for five damn minutes?"

Darcy smirked at him. "To be fair, it's not his fault that the Hand wants him dead."

"No. No, it's definitely his fault."

That got a laugh out of her. "You really don't like him."

"SHIELD did some clean up after the whole Whiplash and Extremis fiascos. You have no idea how difficult it is to keep that man's ego under wraps."

There was a sparkle in Darcy's eyes which told him that she was laughing at him.

"Did you really tase a god?" he asked.

He took another mouthful from the bottle, then startled when Darcy leaned across the table to snatch the liquor right out of his hand.

She drank deeply, and his eyebrows shot up even though his gaze was riveted to her throat. Her lips released the mouth of the bottle with a soft pop, and he felt the sudden need to shift in his chair.

"Yep. Tased him twice as a matter of fact."

"'Cause the files say it was Dr. Forster who tased Thor."

She smiled wryly. "Coulson doctored them. He's trying to get me to join up. Keep it on the down low."

"Why haven't you? When you're putting yourself in danger like this?"

"I already told you, nine-to-five isn't my thing. I'm just in too deep because of the whole Asgard thing."

He leaned forward and motioned for her to return the bottle. She took another sip and held it out, dangling the bottle neck between two fingers.

He deliberately let his fingers brush against hers and was pleased to see her lips part and her gaze grow darker.

"You're sitting in a safe house in the middle of the night, hiding out with a double agent who just killed half of his team." He tried not to wince as the words left his mouth.

He tried even harder not to think about the sound of Rollins neck snapping in his grip. (He'd been a good second-in-command. Solid, focused, goal-oriented. Closed up about his private life, no family, no friends, no lovers as far as Rumlow could tell. A lifer, who was always on the clock. Gone in a second. A sharp crack, and a soft exhale. Sure, Brock had spent weeks framing him, so he would have died anyway, but fuck, it had only been three weeks since he'd dragged him out of a combat zone, after he'd been shot in the leg. And this was the worst time to remember the weight of his body slung across his shoulders, and the cracking of bullets as Rollins made sure to cover their backs while Brock hustled them back to the helicopter.)

"I'm not sure where you got the idea that there is anything about this job that's boring."

Darcy shrugged. "I don't think it's boring. I'm just not good with taking orders."

He had to grin at that before he pressed the bottle to his mouth again. "Problems with authority?" he asked after he'd wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He was starting to come down, could practically feel his muscles go lax as he sank deeper into the chair.

Darcy winked at him. "You could say that." Bracing one hand on the low table between them, she climbed on top of it and crawled towards him.

His mouth went dry.

She snatched the bottle out of his unresisting grip and took another swig. Her eyes never left his, and he sure as hell wasn't imaging the way she left her full, soft lips pursed when she pulled them away from the bottle. They were glistening with a dark red color and a thin layer of scotch.

"Like to break the rules, do you?" he said. His voice came out far more husky then he had intended, but his head was swimming, memories of violence and red hot desire getting all jumbled up and leaving him dizzy.

She regarded him for a long moment, and the tension between them grew heavy.

"It there any particular rule you'd like me to break?" she asked.

Oh, fuck. No mistaking that tone. He was in so much fucking trouble.

"What I would _like_ is to bend you over that sofa and make you scream my name."

The words were out of his mouth, before he could stop them, certainly before he'd even thought about what he was actually saying. (Adrenalin and alcohol, man. He should fucking know better. He was in no condition to actually follow through on that right now. He didn't trust himself not to lose control and be rougher than she wanted him to be. He didn't want to hurt her.)

Groaning, he closed his eyes. "Fuck. Sorry. That was..."

"Oh, don't take it back," Darcy interrupted him with a laugh.

He felt the warmth of her body before he opened his eyes to find her kneeling on the table in front of him. Her body hovered above his, and one of her hands slid over his knee and up his thigh as she leaned over him. Her other hand took hold of the tie he'd hastily loosened in the bathroom, and wrapped around it, pulling him closer.

"If you weren't on your way to getting thoroughly drunk, I would use this to tie you to the chair and ride you until you _forget_ your own name," she said with a truly wicked smile.

Which... would be a perfect solution to his problem, really. Rumlow swallowed hard. Well, if this clever, rebellious not-quite-an-agent didn't just have the best ideas.

"I'm not that drunk," he rumbled and put the bottle down.

Darcy pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose. "I'm glad to hear it."

And then she was in his lap and her mouth slanted over his, and he still felt the tug of the necktie held securely in her fist, and he was fucked.

In the best way.

Opening his mouth against the soft pressure of her lips, he lost himself in the hot, wet slide slide of their tongues, the warmth of her body bleeding into his, and the scent of her skin that became more enticing every time he inhaled. His hands fisted in the back of her shirt as he pulled her against the hard line of his body, and Darcy moaned into his mouth as she settled herself against his straining erection and ground down on him.

She kissed him until he couldn't taste anything but her, until his body was straining to wrap itself around her, until his thoughts were quiet and drifting languidly in the emptiness of his mind. His world narrowed down to the loft, the chair, to Darcy sitting in his lap, to the hot trail her lips left on his neck, the sharp sting of her teeth against his collar bone that made him tense, made his hips buck up into her. A deep groan rumbled through his chest, and she raised her head, impossible long, soft eyelashes casting shadows over her dark blue eyes.

The look she gave him went straight to his dick.

And as if she knew exactly what she was doing to him, (which admittedly wouldn't take a genius to figure out) she tugged sharply at his neck tie and used the leverage to rise to her feet.

"Let's see what we can do with this," she said.

Her knuckles brushed against his throat, and he dipped his head back to give her better access as she hooked her fingers behind the knot, loosening it further. His skin was so sensitized that he felt her fingers like a brand against his skin, and he'd be damned if he didn't wish she would let him go up in flames.

Letting go of his tie, Darcy ran her fingers through his short cropped hair. It was an oddly comforting gesture, and maybe it was the fucking day he'd had, or maybe she just called to something that he usually kept locked up tight, but he let his eyes drift shut and leaned into her touch, like a damned cat who wanted to be petted. He'd probably be embarrassed about that nonsense when he woke up tomorrow, but right now, he didn't care.

Instead, he let himself enjoy the gentleness of her caress, and a soft noise rose in his throat as her warm breath tickled his ear.

"Tell me, if I tie you down to tight, alright?"

Her voice was like molten honey in his ear.

"Sure, sweetheart. Whatever you want."

She fastened her lips around the lobe of his ear, and gave it a gentle tug. "Good boy."

A snort escaped him, and he looked up at her with an amused expression.

She wrinkled her nose playfully. "Not your thing?"

"Not really, but if it works for you. I don't really mind."

She slipped the necktie over his head and pressed a quick kiss to his forehead. "Nah, that's okay. I believe we were going for me screaming your name, anyway."

He just caught the mischievous smile that spread over her face before she crouched behind him and tied his hands to the frame of the chair. He'd mostly blamed his desire to fuck her on the alcohol and the fact that he desperately needed to get out of his own head for a while, and it caught him by surprise that she made him feel... almost playful.

He shook his head. The woman was full of surprises. He wondered if she kept Coulson and Fury off-guard as well, or if he was the only sucker who had the rug pulled out from under his feet every time he met her.

Before long, her hands were back in his hair, and she straddled him again. The scotch really must have done a number on his brain, because this was actually the first time that he realized that with his hands tied like this, there was no way he could reach out and cup those gorgeous breasts of hers. The fact that Darcy had taken her shirt and denims off, and was now grinding against him in her underwear, made that realization all the more acutely regrettable.

She kissed him again, swallowing the needy noises that fell from his lips as she pulled herself flush against him. Why the fuck hadn't he taken off his clothes first? He was such an idiot.

"Something wrong?" she whispered against his lips. Her lashes fluttered against his cheek, and he sucked in a raged breath as she nipped at the curve of his jaw and let one of her hands trail down his chest and abdomen.

"I want to touch you," he said roughly.

Her smile was sinful. "Sounds as if you made a small tactical mistake."

He nodded ruefully. "Looks like I did."

Leaning back in his lap, she opened the front clasp of her bra, and guided his head to the ample swell of her breast. "If you want me to untie you, you're gonna have to work for it."

"Wicked woman," he said with a grin, then ducked his head and sucked one of her tight nipples into his mouth.

She hissed. "Yes. Fuck, it's been so long, I almost forgot how good that feels."

It was perhaps not the most romantic thing to say out loud, but they weren't here for romance. Besides, his lizard brain was preening at her praise and enthusiasm. He sucked her breast further into his mouth, and curled his tongue around her nipple, lavishing first one than her other breast with his attention until Darcy was panting.

She unfastened his pants. It took her a moment to shove his boxer-briefs down far enough to wrap her warm hand firmly around his aching cock, but when he finally felt himself caught in her grasp, he almost came right then and there. He moaned softly, head spinning with that heady combination of liquor, lust, and near-death experiences that heightened every sensation, until he wanted to crawl out of his own skin.

He was too lost in her to figure out how she managed to keep a hold of him, press his mouth against her breast, and push the seat of her underwear aside, but a sudden, deep groan tore out of his mouth, when she took him into her body. The wet, velvet heat that sheathed him left him slack-jawed and swearing against her chest.

She laughed as she began to ride him, her hips moving in slow circles that had him bucking desperately against her.

"Do you kiss your mother with that filthy mouth?" she asked, and even though he couldn't quite tamp down on the snort at the cliched line, he also couldn't prevent himself from saying, "No. Just you."

She flashed him a grin and kissed him hungrily as she quickened her pace. "Naughty. I like it."

Her hips came down hard on top of him, forcing his cock deep into her body, and his eyes rolled back into his head.

"Fuck!"

"You feel so damn good." Darcy panted. Her forehead slumped against his shoulder, and he could feel her hand between their bodies, rubbing feverishly against her clit as she ground down on him, taking him harder, chasing her pleasure. Rumlow couldn't believe how much he was getting off on the idea of her using him like this.

"Harder, Sweetheart. Take me harder. Don't be gentle with me." he encouraged her.

"Oh, fuck." Her fingers dug into the short hair at the back of his neck, and he leaned back against the chair and brought his hips up into her.

Darcy growled into his ear, and slammed herself down on him.

"That's it, Darcy. Use me. Use my body for your pleasure. Fuck, you're so damn beautiful. Look at you." She was a goddess, savage, fierce, and kind all at once, chasing away those damned blood-soaked thoughts swirling at the edge of his mind, filling him up with the kind of heated desire he hadn't experience – hadn't _allowed_ himself to experience – in far too long.

She suddenly tightened around him, her muscles clenching him so hard he gasped. Her wanton, unabashed moans filled the shadowed space of the abandoned loft as she threw her head back, her mouth open and her eyes closed. The heat of her body was overwhelming, and he lost himself in the sensation of it, his hips pumping feverishly up into her until he came. His vision blackened out as he spent himself inside her, and his ears thundered with the sound of his own heartbeat.

"Niiice," Darcy panted, slumped as she was against his chest.

He blinked. It took a moment for his brain to function again, but then he stared at her in disbelief. "Nice? Really? That's what we're going to call this?"

She looked up at him with a drowsy, happy expression on her face.

It did strange things to the inside of his chest.

"Well, I didn't scream your name, yet? Did I?"

His eyebrows shot up. "That sounds an awful lot like a challenge."

Darcy pressed a quick kiss to his jaw and pulled herself off him. "It is, if you want to it be," she said with a wink.

Rumlow craned his neck to watch her untie his hands. Never let it be said that he let a dare go unanswered.

The minute his hands were free, he sprung to his feet, bent low, and threw Darcy over his shoulder.

Her surprised yelp quickly turned into a laugh as he carried her over to the couch.

"Just so you know, the amount of caveman attitude that I tolerate is pretty low." As if to emphasize her point, she gave his ass a light slap.

"Duly noted," he replied before he let her bounce onto the lumpy cushions.

Kneeling before her, he drew her legs to either side of his chest, and looked up at her. "I'm at your service then."

She sank her teeth into her bottom lip. "God, you have no idea how hot that is."

He smirked. "Oh, I think you're wrong about that."

 

* * *

 

Hours later, he woke up to Darcy's warm weight snuggled against his side. The sun was uncomfortably high in the sky, and his head was pounding, courtesy of half a bottle of scotch.

It surprised him that he'd actually been able to fall asleep. Nights after difficult or messed up missions were usually spent lying awake and staring at the ceiling, trying to keep dark thoughts at bay. However, he couldn't deny that he and Darcy had spent most of the night thoroughly exhausting themselves... in the most pleasant ways possible.

And when the first light of dawn had lightened the grimy windows, she most definitely had been screaming his name.

For the third or fourth time, actually.

He couldn't keep the stupid grin off his face remembering that.

He took another look at the windows, then gently nudged Darcy's shoulder. She had one arm and leg draped across his chest and hips respectively, and her slow, even exhales brushed pleasantly against his neck. He almost regretted having to wake her up.

"Darcy?"

"Hnng."

The corner of his lips quirked up. "Darcy you need to wake up. When did Fury say he'd be here?"

"'oon."

He looked around for his cell phone, and eventually found it in the jacket he'd discarded on the floor.

The display informed him that it was half past eleven.

"Okay, we need to get up. He'll be here in less then half an hour."

"'oub' it," she mumbled.

He frowned down at her. "And why do you doubt it?"

"'ark."

There was a pause. "Good point."

He slumped back into the cushions.

"I suppose you'll be going back to work with Dr. Foster," he mused out loud.

He was trying to be casual about it, because, sure, the night had been fun (He was such a damn liar. It had been fucking amazing.) but it was not as if he'd caught a sudden case of feelings. (Again, liar. Besotted, pathetic liar.)

Darcy murmured something unintelligible into his neck.

He cleared his throat. Why was he so damn nervous? He barely knew her.

But he wanted to know her better.

"Look, it'll probably take some time to sort out the mess I'm in, but I'd like to see you again."

Darcy didn't say anything, but she lifted her head and blinked up at him groggily. Then she snatched his phone out of his hand and started typing.

A few seconds later, she returned the phone to him and snuggled back against his chest. All without saying a word.

Nonplussed, he looked at his phone.

She'd added her name to his contacts, which wasn't entirely unexpected. What did make him smile though, was the message she'd typed under Additional Information.

_Not a morning person. Let's talk over coffee._

He snorted.

Then he opened an app and looked for the nearest coffee shop.

 


End file.
